


Are You Lonesome Tonight

by annejumps



Series: All Shook Up [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - High School, Angsty Schmoop, Bottom!Eames, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:52:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They leave in Arthur's car, the sounds and lights of the barbecue fading away in the warm, humid night. Eames isn’t sure where they’re going, and doesn’t ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You Lonesome Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> The fifth and penultimate fic in this series. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

There’s something Eames knows, but wants to forget.

His mother hasn’t forgotten. Far from it. She’s saved up for all of Eames’ life for him to go to university. His graduation is imminent and she’s slipped him pamphlets. He’s been setting them aside, but at her insistence, has applied to schools. He’s gotten some acceptance letters, and his mother’s hoping he’ll make a decision soon.

Arthur’s not going to university. He’s going to continue his apprenticeship at the mechanic’s shop, which is owned by a friend of his father’s. Going to university is, he told Eames, out of the question. His father doesn’t have the money, and even if Arthur won a scholarship, he needs to get a job and help support his sister, not go off to live elsewhere and read books all day, as his father put it.

Eames doesn’t particularly like Arthur’s father.

Eames knows that sometime later this year he’ll be going to university. Arthur will not be. These are the facts as they lay. The clock is counting down.

The day of their graduation is sunny. Eames’ mother is there, beaming. Arthur’s sister is there, looking proud.

That night, after the celebratory barbecue at school, Arthur takes him aside, in the dark provided by a large oak tree. “Tell your mother we’re going out tonight to celebrate and you’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

Eames just nods. His feet carry him back to where his mother is eating baked beans and conversing with the neighbors about how in England, people eat baked beans with breakfast. “Mum,” he says, “Arthur and I--” he gestures back to Arthur, in case she’s forgotten who he is-- “are going out celebrating tonight. We’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

She looks saddened for a moment, then smiles and nods. “Of course, love, you deserve to have a bit of fun,” she says, and kisses his cheek. “Be safe, sweetheart.”

He’s surprised she’s said yes, but then, Eames doesn’t go out too terribly often, and does whatever he can to hide his... extracurricular activities from his mother. She doesn’t suspect a thing.

He walks back to Arthur, who’s not wearing his leather jacket tonight -- it’s too hot -- and thus looks almost respectable, in a clean white undershirt and dark dungarees. Perhaps his mother didn’t notice his worn black leather boots.

Arthur smiles at him.

They leave in his car, the sounds and lights of the barbecue fading away in the warm, humid night. Eames isn’t sure where they’re going, and doesn’t ask.

They drive down the highway for a long while. At some point, Arthur’s right hand finds Eames’ thigh, and rests on it proprietarily, kneading gently from time to time, fingers curving around it, approaching Eames’ crotch. Eames doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes and bites his lip whenever Arthur’s fingers move.

A neon sign for a motel practically shouts into the summer night, up on the left. Arthur turns into the drive, and Eames’ heart starts pounding.

“Arthur,” he murmurs, mouth dry. Arthur just gives his thigh a squeeze.

Arthur parks and gets out, and returns from the front desk with a key. They drive to the back of the building, a dark corner, and park in front of the door. The motel is quiet. There don’t seem to be many guests.

The room is spare. With the door chained, Arthur turns to him, peels off his shirt, and steps toward him without a word. Eames fumbles desperately to unbutton his shirt as Arthur kisses him, and he’s finally rid of the unwanted garment as Arthur’s hands find his skin, roaming over it greedily. It hits Eames that this might be one of their last times like this, and he makes a soft sound. Arthur hums, and pulls back, eyes bright.

“Eames,” he begins, then bites his lip. He bends to take off his boots and socks instead. Eames doesn’t press him. He takes off his own shoes and socks, sheds his khakis. Arthur sheds his dungarees and then they’re standing before each other in their underwear once again, with a certain degree of privacy and anonymity protecting them. Do Not Disturb.

Arthur crowds in close to kiss him again, a hot hand roaming to press and rub Eames’ erection through the thin cotton of his boxers. Eames hums a desperate little hum, shifting, opening his mouth wider to Arthur’s kisses. Arthur’s other hand holds the back of his head, and Eames’ fingers rest on the waistband of Arthur’s shorts.

Breaking suddenly, Arthur clambers onto the bed, and Eames follows. On his back, Arthur strips out of his last remaining item of clothing (he keeps Eames’ class ring on, as always, on a chain around his neck), then reaches for Eames, who’s naked soon enough. Arthur turns and presses him back into the hard mattress, their cocks leaking over their stomachs, hips shifting restlessly.

Eames wonders with a stab of despair whether anyone will ever make him feel like this again. Whether he’ll even see Arthur again after he leaves for university. Desperate for distraction, he clings to Arthur’s arms.

Arthur kisses his jaw, his neck, his ear, his collarbone.

He leans on one hand more than the other; Eames finds the freer hand and wraps his fingers around it. Arthur laces their fingers together. He shifts onto his side on the bed, and Eames turns with him.

Arthur swallows hard, staring at him, wide-eyed. “Eames,” he begins again.

Eames remembers a time that seems to be ages ago, a time he’d seen Arthur leaning against the wall at school, smoking, looking unflappable. Now, he’s flushed, naked, hair already mussed, and looking like he doesn’t know what to say. Eames couldn’t have dreamed then that he’d ever see him like this.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Eames asks, voice low.

Arthur licks his lips quickly. “No one,” he starts, “no one’s ever treated me like you do.”

Eames nods, somber, waiting.

“I’m....” Arthur swallows. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Eames shifts forward and kisses him, quickly, desperately. Arthur squeezes Eames’ fingers between his own.

“Don’t let’s think about it,” Eames whispers, alarmed at the catch in his voice. “Not tonight.”

Arthur nods.

“I want this to be a good night,” Eames continues. He swallows. “I want us to remember it for ages, for it to make us happy.”

Arthur nods again, starting to smile, a sad little smile that nonetheless brings out a dimple. He unlaces his fingers from Eames’ and kisses him. Eames’ hand trails between them and gives Arthur’s cock a squeeze. Arthur gasps, and breaks the kiss to blink at the ceiling. “I want to fuck you,” he says.

Eames nods. He’s sure this won’t be their last time -- he won’t be going to university until after summer’s end -- but this is the first time they’ll be so conscious of their time running out. Something they’re familiar with is what they need right now.

Arthur tells him he wants to go slowly. Of course, that’s easier said than done. Arthur kisses him everywhere, even the creases of his inner elbows, and Eames’ hands never leave him. When Eames is frantic with need, Arthur gets the slick from his pocket.

Eames is soon again on his back beneath him, rocking on his fingers, and he pictures Arthur sinking inside him, Eames wrapping around him tightly, watching his face, and thinks that this time, he can’t do it that way.

“Arthur,” he breathes, “I want to turn over.”

Arthur blinks, and nods. “Sure, yeah.” For a moment, he looks disappointed, even hurt.

“C’mere.” Arthur shifts forward; Eames cups his jaw and kisses him. “It’s just that I can’t-- I can’t-- I don’t think I can watch your face tonight, love.”

Arthur goes still, closing his eyes, and nods. “Turn over,” he says softly.

Something about being on his hands and knees like this, exposed and ready for it, makes Eames feel more wanton, sends an extra throbbing through his cock. Arthur’s fingers aren’t back in him yet, and he looks over his shoulder, questioning and suddenly uncertain.

Arthur’s staring at him, cheeks pink, eyes almost black as he drags his gaze to meet Eames’. “Sorry,” he says, voice husky, “was just looking at you.” He swallows, and licks his lips. “You look... really good like this.”

 _Pity we didn’t do this sooner, then_ , Eames thinks but decides against saying. Boosted by how flummoxed Arthur is, he grins, cheeky. “C’mon then, give it to me,” and Arthur laughs, going pinker still.

“I’ll give it to you all right, you--” Arthur growls, and he’s chuckling breathlessly but there’s enough seriousness in what he says to send another throbbing through Eames’ cock. Then Arthur sinks into him, hands grasping his hips, pulling Eames back slowly to him as he shifts back to sit on his heels.

“Oh, oh, fuck,” Eames utters, his own weight making him sink down onto Arthur’s cock with delicious quickness. Arthur rolls his hips experimentally, settling, and his cock nudges against a spot that has Eames sucking in air like a man saved from drowning, reaching behind himself mindlessly to grasp Arthur’s hip.

Arthur, lips pressed to Eames’ neck, wraps an arm around him. “Mm?” he queries, hips twitching. “Hurts?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt, it feels bloody amazing,” Eames babbles. “There’s a-- spot you’re hitting--”

“Oh,” Arthur says knowingly, “yeah. That can happen.”

“What do you mean it--” Arthur selects that moment to shift Eames forward again, hands tight on his hips once more, cock as deep as it can go, deeper than when Eames is on his back. It’s not that Eames doesn’t like it when Arthur has him on his back, far from it; it’s just that this is something else entirely.

Arthur pulls out completely; Eames is about to voice a strongly worded protest when Arthur pushes in again, steady, as deep as he can go. He settles against that spot again, and Eames quivers, both hands curling in the bedclothes. “Please, Arthur,” he begs.

“Shh,” Arthur murmurs, a soothing hand on his lower back, and Eames realizes he must have said that too loudly. He forgets to be contrite, however, as Arthur reaffirms his hold on Eames’ hips and starts to _move_.

Eames goes a bit mad for it then.

He starts to move along with Arthur, whose fingers dig into his hips, then his buttocks, squeezing. Eames’ head drops forward and he starts to pant.

“I can’t stand it, it feels so--”

“Good?” Arthur sounds insufferably smug, but Eames is inclined to forgive him for it.

“Bloody incredible.”

“Can you come just from this?” Arthur asks, and now he sounds fascinated, voice dark and smoky, a little breathlessness betraying how affected he is.

“Christ, yes.” He doesn’t doubt it.

“I won’t touch you, okay? And don’t touch yourself, I want you to come just from this,” Arthur says, panting now as well, suddenly moving a good bit faster.

Eames moans. His cock is so hard it aches. Arthur is relentlessly hitting that spot, and Eames feels so full, and he can just hear the soft grunts of effort Arthur makes.

“Harder, please,” Eames gasps out.

Arthur makes a sound in his throat, and fucks him harder, hips pressing up right against Eames, crowding him, insistent. Eames feels himself get even harder at the impression he’s being roughly claimed. The feeling deep in his core builds and builds; every moment, it seems like it can’t possibly get any bigger, and yet it does.

The wave crests, and Eames is coming, the feeling pouring forth from that miraculous spot deep within him. He has to move a hand to cup his cock against his belly; he’s making a mess of the duvet. The arm he’s resting his weight on is trembling.

Arthur digs his fingers anew into Eames’ hips, thrusting in that focused, rapid-fire way that lets Eames know he’s coming, too. That knowledge, impossibly, works a last few frissons of pleasure from Eames. That, or the fact that Arthur’s still pounding that spot.

Arthur’s hips slow, and he slumps forward to lower himself onto Eames, panting and hot, the ring and the chain around his neck cool against Eames’ skin. Eames realizes he himself is breathing out in soft little moans on every exhalation.

Arthur pulls out, to a groan of dismay from Eames, and turns Eames over onto his back. “Missed looking at you,” he blurts out, flushed, and kisses him. Eames wraps his arms around him, trying not to smear come on his sweat-damp skin.

“My back’s in a wet spot,” Eames says apologetically as Arthur kisses his jaw, his neck, breath hot. Arthur pauses, chuckles, and goes to get a flannel.

They mop off the duvet, and Eames’ belly and hands. Arthur’s smiling to himself the whole time, ears pink. “What is it?” Eames asks, amused.

“Huh? Oh.” Arthur shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing. Just... liked making you come like that.” He gets up to put away the flannel.

“It’s not that hard to make me come, you know,” Eames calls after him, as he turns down the bedclothes. “At my age.”

Arthur turns out the light in the bathroom and makes his way back to the bed. He’s smirking, eyes dancing. “Yeah, I could tell that was nothing special for you.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Eames agrees with a mostly straight face, wrapping his arms around Arthur as he joins him under the covers.

Arthur chuckles, and falls quiet, settling in for one of their last nights together. With a start, Eames is brought back to reality; it’s like being suddenly awakened from a dream. His fingers seek the chain around Arthur’s neck.

“Sleep,” Arthur tells him, soft. He stretches to turn out the light.

They settle back in, and Eames takes hold of Arthur’s chain again. His body is still singing with bliss, deliciously exhausted. The rest of what he’s feeling, however, cannot be described as anything other than heartache.

“Thank you, Arthur,” he whispers.

“Hm?” Arthur queries, sleepy.

“For getting us this room,” Eames clarifies. “It can’t have been cheap, I’ll reimburse you--”

“No, no,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “It was my graduation gift to you.”

 _A going-away present, really_ , Eames thinks but doesn’t say. Perhaps something of it shows in his face, because Arthur kisses him, tender. There’s no heat in it, just a sweetness that makes Eames want to sob.

“Sleep,” Arthur whispers again. “I love you.”

Eames swallows. “I love you, too,” he replies.

He sleeps like a rock, and wakes to sunlight and Arthur yawning and stretching. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” Arthur says, voice hoarse with sleep. Eames just kisses him, despite his stomach growling.

And despite how hungry they both are, they head for the shower. Showering with Arthur is a glorious experience, no matter how dingy and stark this motel bath is. They soap each other up, suds-slick hands finding each other’s cocks.

They dry off and dress; Arthur puts his hair back into his usual style with the little tin of pomade and comb he keeps in his other pocket. Eames goes to wait in the car for him as he pays the front desk clerk. He tries not to think too much about things.

Arthur drives them to a diner, where they eat an enormous amount of food -- Eames pays -- and sneak smiles at each other. It’s somewhat jarring, suddenly being out among people again.

Full, if a bit more subdued now, they drive back to town. It’s daylight now, of course, so no fondling or kisses goodbye when Arthur drops Eames off at his house.

His mother is mopping, as she usually does on Saturday morning, when he walks in. “Did you have a nice time, dear?” she asks, beaming.

“Yeah, sure,” Eames says as casually as possible, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks for letting me go, Mum.”

“Of course, love.” She sets the mop aside and comes over to kiss his cheek. She smells like roses. “I thought it would be a nice little treat, but William, I’ve got a lovely surprise for you.” His mother’s absolutely beaming. “Next weekend you’ll be off to England to visit your cousins for the summer.”

Eames stares at her, uncomprehending. “I’m sorry, what?” He blinks.

She doesn’t seem to register his shock. “Your auntie said it would be fun for you. I’ve saved some money up for it, but they’ll cover most of your expenses. You’ll be staying with them. Oh, I’ve wanted to be able to take you back there for ages. I won’t be able to go with you but I knew you’d love it.”

Eames realizes his heart is pounding and he’s starting to feel ill. “Mum--”

“It’ll be so nice for you to have a good long holiday before you go off to university,” she continues, adjusting the kerchief she’s wearing. “I know it’s awfully boring for you here, someone as curious and clever as you are. I noticed you haven’t been seeing Susan, and you only seem to spend time with that boy, Arthur. You must be keen for a change.”

“Mum, I don’t -- I can’t --”

“Don’t be silly, William, of course you can.” She kisses his cheek again, still smiling. “We’ll get you all packed this week.”

Arthur looks stricken when he tells him. “We were supposed to have all summer,” he says, looking suddenly drawn. He takes out a cigarette and quickly lights it, taking a hasty drag.

“I know,” Eames says, apologetic. “But she’s planned this for weeks, she’s saved all this money--”

“Eames--” Arthur starts, then makes himself stop and start over. “Eames, your mother’s a nice lady, but I don’t want to hear any more about her plans for you right now.”

“What would you have me do?” Eames asks, and swallows. “I’m supposed to explain to my mother that I can’t go to university and can’t spend the summer with my cousins because I’m in love with you? Are we supposed to elope?”

Arthur doesn’t look at him. He’s quiet for a while, and Eames almost misses it when he mutters “You know what, maybe it’s better this way.”

Eames’ stomach lurches. “Arthur, don’t--”

“No, I mean it. No lingering over the summer, waiting for you to go, drawing it out. Just -- you going, right now, getting on with your life.” Shoulders slumping, Arthur shrugs, taking a drag.

“You _are_ my life.”

“I can’t be your life, Eames.” When Arthur looks up at him again, there are tears rimming his eyes. Eames feels a shock go all through him. “There’s nowhere for us. Maybe we need to face that.”

Eames watches Arthur fidget unhappily, his mouth and brow pinched because he’s trying not to cry. Eames suddenly hates himself for doing this to him.

“I don’t want to face it,” Eames whispers, wishing he could wrap his arms around Arthur. But they’re in his front yard in the daylight, so no dice.

Arthur huffs out a humorless laugh with his exhalation of smoke. “Me neither. But I don’t think we have a choice here.”

Arthur’s sister calls him from her bedroom window. “Be right there,” he says to her.

Eames tells him, in a rush, “I’ll come see you before I go.”

Arthur nods.

Eames considers going over to Arthur’s house every night that week. Ultimately, he doesn’t. He’s not sure why. He’s dying to see him, but he wants to make it easier for Arthur, by seeing him just one last time, by not causing hurt by reminding him over and over. There’s no perfect solution. Anyway, he can’t sleep. He feels as though fully half of him is already missing. Food has no taste; nothing keeps his interest.

The night before Eames is to leave, he goes over to Arthur’s house after his mother’s gone to bed.

 _For the last time_ , he thinks.

“Dad’s home,” Arthur says from his window, before coming down to the yard. “We won’t have much time,” he starts, but Eames cuts him off with a kiss, cupping his face. He speaks in a soft rush.

“It’s fine. I don’t want to linger if I can’t stay. It’s killing me to leave you, but it’s killing me to put it off if I’ve got to do it. Arthur, I love you. I’ll write you.” Eames dots his face with kisses.

Arthur chuckles despite himself. When he speaks, it’s with some effort. “Eames.... I’ll miss you so much. Fuck.” He sighs. Reaching under his collar, he pulls out the chain, the ring dangling from it and glinting in the moonlight. “I’m keeping this, if you don’t mind. Even if we’re break-- I mean, I want to keep it.”

“No, keep it, it’s yours,” Eames agrees, and takes a deep breath. His mother must have assumed he’d given it to Susan; she’d never asked about it. If she ever does, he’ll tell her he lost it.

Eames swallows, and lets his hands drop from Arthur’s face to find and hold Arthur’s hands. He’s quite sure he knows what his answer will be, but he takes a moment to breathe before he asks, “Arthur, do you regret it? Do you regret any of it? I don’t.”

Arthur gives him a little smile then, genuine despite his glistening eyes, and squeezes his hands. “No. Nothing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Elvis' [Are You Lonesome Tonight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cS5aCozhcA) (although the lying in the lyrics doesn't apply to the fic). Thanks to [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/), [Amy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asunder), Julia, Nicole, and Liz for all your help!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Are you Lonesome Tonight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757073) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton)




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